What You Need
by Fallen Angel's Hope
Summary: Aramis loves Anne with all his heart, despite knowing they can never be together. Gabrielle Olivier, Queen Anne's new "lady's maid" seems to spell the perfect answer to that problem. But as Gabrielle starts to fall in love with Aramis and his and Anne's relationship gets more precarious, all three of them begin to learn that what they want might not necessarily be what they need.
1. A Woman By The Fire

**Okay, so this is the beginning of my Musketeers fanfiction. I'm experimenting a little here because I don't usually write in third person and I'm not entirely sure how well this chapter reads…Here's hoping you guys like it!**

Gabrielle hiked up her skirt, trying to keep it out of the way as she ran down the slightly muddy streets of Paris. A light drizzle was still oozing from the clouds, wetting her hair and helping it fall further out of its elaborate up-do. It was getting both late and dark and the wind was doing nothing to help the bitter chill settling in her bones. She slipped on the damp ground, nearly dropping her bag, and swore. She swore at the rain for soaking her to the skin, she swore at the ground for being slippery, she swore at her brother for being a lying cheat but most of all she swore at herself for believing him.

A roll of thunder rumbled from the sky above her and Gabrielle glanced up at it anxiously, the bruised purple shade of the clouds only worrying her more. She gathered her dress up in her fists again and hurried once more down the street. She paused as she met a fork in the path and desperately tried to remember if she was supposed to go left or right; it was so long since she'd been here.

Gabrielle had come to Paris to meet the Queen. Anne had heard of how Gabrielle served her old mistress, Duchess Louisa Clairoux, and had asked if perhaps Gabrielle could do something similar for her. The job was something of a Godsend for Gabrielle: she had been searching for a new one for nearly a month and her savings were on the wrong side of gone. If Anne decided she didn't need her then Gabrielle had no doubt she was about to get far closer acquainted with the slums than she had ever wanted to be. But for now, until Anne made a firm decision, Gabrielle had been instructed to stay in Paris. Her complete lack of money was quite a big hitch in that plan but Gabrielle was reluctant to mention it. She could hardly tell the queen she was destitute: Anne would likely refuse to hire her on principle. It seemed like the kind of thing royalty would do.

And so, Gabrielle found herself searching the streets of Paris in the pouring rain – ruining her best dress in the process – for a house that may well be deserted by now. Her friend Hèlene had likely married and moved away a long time ago but the half-baked disaster of a plan was Gabrielle's only hope.

The heavens growled again from far above her and Gabrielle impulsively turned right. She had always liked right more than left anyway. As she ran the rain got heavier and she was now running through nothing short of a torrential downpour. She struggled to try and simultaneously keep her dress out of the way of her feet and her hair out of the way of her eyes and wasn't very successful with either. She stumbled her way through the rain and was beyond grateful when she finally saw the doorway of, she hoped, Hèlene's home. She dashed into the relative protection of the doorstep and knocked frantically on the wood.

A long moment passed before the door swung open and the smile Gabrielle had conjured disappeared. A man, slightly shabby, dishevelled and certainly unfamiliar stood in the doorframe with a red haired woman just behind him. Gabrielle's heard sank. It had been a long shot, she had known that, but that didn't make her disappointment any easier to bear.

"Can we help you?" The man asked, eyeing Gabrielle suspiciously. She could hardly blame him: she would be suspicious too if a stranger showed up at her house this late.

"I…" she began and then she hesitated. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she realised she was likely spending the night on the street. "A woman used to live here. Hèlene Bouclaire. Do you know her? Perhaps she left a new address with you in case anyone asked?" Gabrielle hoped her face held a pleading expression but was painfully aware that it could be anything from anger to despair considering the day she'd had.

"No." The man snapped and tried to shut the door on Gabrielle but the woman, who Gabrielle assumed was his wife, leapt forward and wedged herself in the gap, forcing the door back open.

"Wait!" She cried, ignoring the irritated huff her husband let out. "She did live here before we moved in. I think I remember an address but that was a long time ago." The woman paused, regarding Gabrielle with undisguised worry. "Is it urgent?"

Gabrielle hesitated, unsure whether or not her situation qualified as urgent. "No. No I suppose not. I find myself unexpectedly without a place to stay and I hoped she might have a chair I could spend the night in."

"There's an inn just down the road, third right and second left after that. Goodnight." The man replied shortly and attempted to shut the door again but his wife once again stopped him.

"She can't go in there looking like that!" Gabrielle frowned at that comment, slightly offended, and discreetly looked down at her dress which she had _thought_ was perfectly respectable. "She looks half drowned!"

Oh. _That._

"They'll take one look at her and throw her onto the street. She'll have to stay here." The woman said firmly and ushered Gabrielle inside, ignoring the spluttered protests of her husband.

Gabrielle let a small smile light her face at the woman's display. This was the kind of woman Gabrielle got along with: independent, strong and confident. The woman guided her to the right into the living room of the house and glanced at her apologetically. "I'm afraid a chair really is all we can offer." She said, gesturing at the chaise longue in front of the fire. "I'll get you a blanket." She began to move away but Gabrielle quickly grasped her arm to stop her.

"There's no need: It'll only get wet. Thank you, though." She said quickly and the woman nodded biting her lip apologetically.

"About that, I realise you must be cold and you're welcome to move things closer to the fire but our lodger will be coming in later. He sometimes brings his friends in for a little while if it's been a rough night and well…I wouldn't advise undressing." Gabrielle barely managed to repress an irritated sigh. She was grateful to the woman, she truly was, but she was also freezing and sitting in a soaked dress was the last thing she wanted to do. Her silence seemed to convey her thoughts as the woman grimaced.

"I'm sorry I can't do more for you…?"

"Gabrielle." Gabrielle supplied and a smile lit the woman's face.

"That's a beautiful name. I always wanted to be called something like that when I was younger: Something pretty. My name's Constance. Constance Bonacieux."

"I notice your friend didn't give you a last name." Monsieur Bonacieux stated coldly from the doorway. Gabrielle met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Olivier. Gabrielle Olivier." Bonacieux regarded her for a long moment, long enough for Gabrielle to know he didn't believe her, before he beckoned Constance with a much softer tone than he'd shown Gabrielle.

"Come to bed: It's late and there's nothing more you can do here."

Constance nodded her assent and briefly clasped Gabrielle's hand, "If there's anything you need, just ask," before following her husband up the stairs.

Gabrielle sighed and sat down on the edge of the chaise longue, her bag making a heavy "thump" as it hit the ground. Gabrielle fingered the hilt of her sword through the bag's material and hoped she wouldn't be leaving Paris as quickly as she had come.

Aramis entered Constance's darkened home as quietly as possible, following D'artagnan and Porthos left into the kitchen with Athos not far behind him. He reached up automatically to pull of his hat as he leant against the table. D'artagnan searched quickly for a bandage and some alcohol for his arm while Aramis and the others arranged themselves around the kitchen.

"You know, you could always ask for help." Aramis commented lightly as D'artagnan struggled to wrap the bandage. D'artagnan glared at him and he held his hands up in defence, meeting Athos' gaze across the kitchen and knowing they were thinking the same thing.

D'artagnan had been in a foul mood ever since Constance had called off their relationship (affair, really, not that he could talk) and it was making him both very bad company and extremely reckless. Speaking of which, a lecture was definitely due from Athos about D'artagnan putting himself in danger.

As if on cue Athos began to berate D'artagnan in the most hushed voice he could manage. "What did you think you were doing? You could have been killed!"

"Well I wasn't, was I?" D'artagnan replied in the same furious but quiet tone and Aramis, sensing another argument brewing, suddenly became very interested in a tea cup that had been left on the table.

Athos and D'artagnan had been having heated arguments ever since D'artagnan's new lack of self-preservation had surfaced, but they never seemed to do much good. Aramis and Porthos had tried to mediate at first but had quickly learned that it was better to stay out of them entirely if they didn't want to be accused of "taking sides" and make one or both of them angry.

"Let's hope this one ends quicker than the last time." Porthos muttered as he passed Aramis and moved into the living room. Aramis was contemplating joining him when his voice floated through to the kitchen breaking up the argument completely.

"Do you think Constance knows there's a woman asleep in her sitting room?"

Aramis exchanged a brief look of confusion with the other two before all three of them bundled into said room.

"What do you mean a..." D'Artagnan trailed off as he stared at the sleeping woman like he'd never seen one before while Aramis leant over the back of it to get a better look at her.

The woman had pulled the chaise longue closer to the fire and was curled up on the wrong end, her hands acting as a pillow between the hard wood of the arm and her head. She had light-ish skin, too dark to have lived inside all her life but too light to have spent it all outside either. Her brown hair was fanned out across her face and the arm of the sofa in still wet straggles but it, like her skin, was clean and reasonably well cared for and her dress was well made and fitted.

"She doesn't look like a street rat." He pointed out.

"What's she doing there?" D'Artagnan demanded and the three musketeers shrugged as one.

"House guest?" Porthos suggested.

"Relative?" Aramis bounced back.

"No." Athos responded assuredly. "If she was then Constance would have mentioned she was coming. And she would have given her D'Artagnan's bed."

"Then how do we know she's not snuck in?" D'Artagnan folded his arms across his chest. "I say we wake her up and find out exactly what she's doing here. She could be a thief or a murderer." He started towards her but Athos held out an arm to stop him and shook his head.

"Why would she be asleep in front of the fire if she was? Wouldn't she be stealing or murdering?" Porthos asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Besides, Aramis is right," Athos said "she's not a street rat." His assured tone made Aramis wonder if he knew more than he was saying but he brushed the thought off quickly: if he knew something, he would share it.

"Either way she doesn't seem to be doing much better in here than she would out there." Porthos gestured to the woman. He was right: even in her sleep the woman was shivering and It was no wonder, her dress was soaked with rainwater and the fire was beginning to die.

"It's none of our business." Athos decided. "We should go." Porthos and D'Artagnan nodded, though D'Artagnan was clearly reluctant, and moved towards the door or the staircase respectively. Aramis lingered a moment longer.

"Aramis?" Porthos called from the doorway. "You coming?" Aramis looked at him and then back at the shivering woman and made an impulsive decision that he was almost sure he would regret.

"Give me a moment." He unbuckled his gun belt and pulled off his shoulder sash. He heard Porthos groan as he unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, a grin spreading across his face at his friend's expression. It amused him to no end how irritated Porthos got every time he held them up in order to be a gentleman. He draped the coat over the girl, tucking it around her shoulders carefully so as not to wake her up. He was rewarded when she shifted slightly, her hair falling to the side and giving him an unobstructed view of her face.

He stared at her face for only a moment, far less time than he would have taken had it been Anne, before gathering up his things and scribbling her a note. Then he jogged to the door where Porthos was waiting for him. Porthos shook his head in exasperation and the smile crept back onto Aramis' face as he left the house.

**So there it is. I'd really appreciate reviews, good or bad, though I ask you avoid flames if you can possibly help it.**


	2. Too Many Mysteries To Count

**Hi there guys! Thank you all for your lovely reviews and for following my story: it really means a lot to me! I've more to say but I'll let you read the chapter first and then you can choose whether or not to read about my trials and tribulations in the bottom author's note. Happy reading!**

**Chapter two - Too many mysteries to count.  
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Gabrielle woke to sunlight streaming in through the window and muffled voices from the kitchen she had glimpsed last night. She yawned and stretched, wondering what the time was and something shifted, sliding off her a little as she moved. She grabbed at it to stop it falling onto the floor and then frowned when she realised it wasn't the blanket she had expected, pulling at it harder until it fell into her lap.

It was a coat, she realised, as she ran her fingers over the brown leather, soft but durable. A piece of tough armour was still strapped to the right shoulder: a soldier's coat, then. "What on earth…" she muttered, squinting at the pattern on the armour. She remembered the symbol well from the day before: it was everywhere at the palace. _This_ was the symbol of the King's musketeers.

So _wha_t it was doing here?

Gabrielle strained to remember Monsieur Bonacieux, but the image she came up with was far from that of a musketeer. As she puzzled over the coat she caught sight of a piece of folded paper by her feet. Her legs tangled in the folds of her skirt and she almost fell as she scrambled down the cushions on her knees. She grabbed the paper, opening it up and scanning quickly over the loopy, cursive handwriting.

_You looked as if you needed this. I hope it serves you well.  
>If you would be so kind as to pass it to D'Artagnan when you<br>wake, he will see it is returned to me._

Gabrielle frowned at the note, unsure of what to make of it. The man, for the coat was undeniably a man's, didn't seem to be particularly interested in actually talking to her. In fact he'd gone out of his way to ensure he didn't have to. But then why leave her the coat? Perhaps he was trying to be chivalrous. Gabrielle snorted at that idea: there were precious few men nowadays who did _anything_ just for the sake of chivalry. And who was D'Artagnan? How was she supposed to find him? She scanned the note again, turning it over and glancing at the back in case she'd missed something but coming up empty handed.

"Hmm," She murmured and leant back into the sofa, chewing lightly on her bottom lip as she tried to puzzle out the situation.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting her thoughts and she pushed the problem to the back of her mind in favour of a more pressing one: finding some breakfast. She pulled herself up, coat in hand, and moved towards the voices still trickling from the kitchen. She pushed the door open to find Constance and an unfamiliar man sat at the wooden kitchen table. Relieved looks flooded across both of their faces as she entered and Constance jumped up to greet her and offer her bread and jam.

"If it's not too much trouble?"

"None at all." Constance replied good-naturedly and busied herself with cutting the bread as Gabrielle sank into the seat beside Constance's vacated one. The man's eyes followed her, or more specifically the coat she carried as she moved.

"Where did you get that?" He demanded. "It doesn't belong to you." Before Gabrielle could even open her mouth Constance had whipped round and brandished the bread knife at him.

"Why do you always have to be so rude? Gabrielle's a guest in my house; you could at least show _her_ some courtesy!" There was silence for a long moment as anger flashed in Constance's eyes and regret in the man's. Gabrielle's eyes darted between the two, trying to puzzle them out as something unspoken passed between them. Whatever it was, it was gone in a heartbeat as the man stood abruptly from the table.

"I have to go." He announced. "Captain Treville will be waiting…Thank you for breakfast." Though his face was neutral, he spoke as if the words had been dragged out of him. And perhaps they had, Gabrielle thought, as it was clear from his burning gaze that there was something else he'd much rather have said. She suddenly got the distinct, ridiculous, impression that she was getting in the way of an intimate moment.

She cleared her throat, slightly louder than she had intended, breaking the heavy silence that had descended over them. "There was a note, with the, uh," She pointed vaguely in the direction of the coat laid across the table, "It said to give it to D'Artagnan?" She looked up at the man "I assume that's you?"

The man regarded her with the same mistrust that Monsieur Bonnacieux had the night before. "Yeah." He said, finally and stepped forward to snatch the coat from the table before turning for the door in one fluid movement. "I'll see you later." He threw over his shoulder just before the door slammed shut behind him.

Gabrielle expected another angry outburst, but what she got instead was an exhausted sigh and half a wistful stare before Constance collected herself and was back to business.

"Here." She said, placing the bread, jam and a knife to spread it with on the table in front of Gabrielle before turning away to the sink to wash a few dirty plates with slightly more vigour than was necessary.

Gabrielle took a slice of bread and began to slowly spread jam on it, considering her words carefully before finally asking: "What was that about?"

Constance didn't exactly freeze; her movements slowed for a second before suddenly jolting back to full speed. "That was my lodger. I told you about him last night." Her voice was stiff, her movements wooden and Gabrielle could practically see her becoming a brick wall. Whatever there was between Constance and D'Artagnan, Constance wasn't sharing.

And why should she? It was none of Gabrielle's business what Constance did: she stayed in the living room for a night, nothing more.

So, instead of pointing out the unanswered question, Gabrielle asked another, simpler one. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight." she glanced over her shoulder at Gabrielle, "Is there somewhere you need to be?" She asked when Gabrielle froze, piece of bread halfway to her mouth.

Gabrielle didn't answer the question, not directly at least, instead she swore loudly, dropping the bread back onto the plate, scrambling up from the table and dashing back into the sitting room. She yanked her bag out from under the chaise longue and began tossing the contents onto it.

"Is every- Is that a sword?" Constance demanded, her voice equal measures awed and cautious.

"What? Yes. Sword." Gabrielle replied distractedly as she looked over the two dresses that she had pulled out of the bag. She grabbed the less crinkled one and, with no thought to Constance's presence, began furiously unlacing the front of the one she was wearing.

"Oh!" Constance exclaimed and turned away as Gabrielle frantically pulled the dress off, leaving it in a pile on the floor as she reached for the other dress, practically shoving her body into it.

"Will this do?" Gabrielle asked as she tightened the laces of her new dress and thanked her lucky stars she'd had the sense to buy a front lacing one. Constance peeked over her shoulder at Gabrielle as she tied off the laces and began to try and smooth some of the creases out of the skirt.

"Well as long as you're not going to see the King, I think you're –

"What about the Queen?" Gabrielle interrupted.

"I'm sorry?" Constance spluttered.

"Am I fit to see the Queen?" Gabrielle demanded impatiently.

Constance stared hard at her and Gabrielle could practically _see_ her mind catching up with the situation as Constance's eyes travelled up her body. "Let me fix your hair." Constance said at last.

She stood still while Constance pulled on her hair, not making a sound, even when Constance caught a particularly large knot. She moved only to hand over pins that had been discarded last night and to check the clock on the mantelpiece whose hands were moving closer and closer to eight-o-clock.

After what seemed to Gabrielle to be an age, Constance finally stepped away, declaring she was done and Gabrielle instantly scrambled for her boots. "I don't suppose you could point me towards the palace?" She asked as she pulled them on.

"I'll take you." Constance didn't even hesitate in her offer and Gabrielle found the corner of her mouth turning up in a smile as the woman rushed off to find her own shoes.

"I have made my decision." King Louis announced and Gabrielle kept her eyes fixed on the marble floor in front of her, not daring to look up lest her eyes betray how desperate she was for this job. She hadn't realised the King would be joining them, so it had been quite an unpleasant shock when she found herself curtseying to two members of the royal family instead of one and an even bigger one when half the royal court appeared. While she knew Queen Anne had been impressed with her skills yesterday, the disapproving stares of the King and most of the courtiers were enough to obliterate any shred of confidence Gabrielle may have had. She should have known better: there was no way she would get the job. Now she waited on one knee, at the left end of the line of six hopefuls, head bowed, waiting for the King to send her away forever, for the King to shatter the pieces of her life that had been precariously balanced for so long.

"When the Queen told me of her desire, I thought she had gone mad." The King declared and Gabrielle began to feel queasy, wishing the King would just tell them who he had chosen. "However, after some thought, and discussion with my closest advisors, I have come to the conclusion that the best thing for Anne, now that she's carrying my child," He paused to grasp the Queen's hand in his own and fix her with a proud, loving look before continuing "is to have more protection, and that you, Gabrielle Olivier, truly are the best ma…" He snickered "I mean _woman_ for the job."

Gabrielle froze, sending the message she had received back to her ears for a re-check. Did he really want to hire her?

"I am certain the Queen will fill you in on your duties, and if I find you to be lacking in any way, you shall be ejected at once from the royal household. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, Sire." Gabrielle had to struggle to keep both her anger at his presumption she would fail and her elation at her success from her voice.

"Good." And then the King was standing up from his throne and striding out of the room without even saying goodbye. There was silence for a long moment before somebody began to whisper and, like a set of dominoes, everybody else followed suit.

Gabrielle stood, at last, careful not to stumble as the blood rushed back to her leg. The other candidates were also standing, four of them shot her malicious sneers and marched away into the crowd, muttering about 'ludicrous scandal'. The fifth, blonde haired, green eyed, fixed her with a slightly rueful look "I can't say I'm glad you got the job, I very much wanted it for myself, but…" he paused and Gabrielle could practically _see_ him swallowing his pride "I believe that the Queen will be in the best possible hands." He bowed stiffly and walked away hurriedly, glancing furtively around to make sure nobody had seen their exchange. Gabrielle rolled her eyes at his retreating form but couldn't help feeling happy that at least _somebody _thought she could do a good job.

"You ought to watch out for men like him." A low, gravelly voice came from behind her and she turned to see a man in a high collared leather jacket with a zucchetto perched on his greying hair and a gold rosary on a heavy chain hanging round his neck. A religious man, but not one that fit in at all with the image that the church painted of itself: this man held himself completely upright, as if his back were attached to an unyielding metal rod; his face was somewhere between harsh and foreboding and an aura of menace followed close behind him like a thundercloud.

"I'm sorry?" Gabrielle asked, not keen to engage such a man in conversation but aware that to ignore him might well bring worse consequences.

"You think your being a woman was a disadvantage, but in fact it was the biggest asset you could have had." The man stated, coming to stand beside her and fix her with his piercing gaze.

"I…don't understand."

"Well of _course _you don't. Being able to wave a sword around is rarely an indication of mental capacity." Gabrielle felt a bubble of outrage swirl in her mouth and quickly popped it before it could do any damage. She'd only just got the job; she didn't need to lose it just yet. The man noted her restraint and smirked at her. "I suppose at least you know how to hold your tongue. Self-restraint is so rare amongst the musketeers."

Gabrielle considered her words carefully for a moment, before finally settling for a slightly stiff "I'm not a musketeer."

The man laughed, but not a laugh that was remotely friendly. "And what a good thing that is."

"Cardinal Richelieu, I do hope you're not giving Miss Olivier a bad impression of the musketeers." This man was wearing brown leather, had a blue cloak strapped to one shoulder and the symbol of the musketeers strapped to the other. He wore leather gloves and a slim goatee, held a hat in his hand and a sword at his waist. His tone was no warmer than the Cardinal's, but his face was softer and he didn't possess the same menacing air.

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it." The Cardinal sneered at the musketeer, before turning back to Gabrielle. "I expect I'll be seeing you again very soon." And with that final comment he was sweeping off across the room, his cloak billowing out behind him. A strange chill ran down Gabrielle's spine and she shivered, wondering how such a neutral parting phrase could sound so much like a threat.

"You ought to watch out for him." The musketeer advised, his tone no longer as cold but just as wary.

"Apparently I need to watch out for half of Paris." Gabrielle replied dryly.

"Do not joke about such things." He warned sternly, "There are many in France who would harm the Queen and have no regrets about killing you to do so. I fear your presence will do nothing to discourage such attempts: few men take a woman warrior seriously." Gabrielle felt her fingernails cutting into her palms and forced herself to relax her hands. The King himself had chosen her as the best person for the job, why was it that wasn't good enough for anybody else? What business was it of his who guarded the Queen? The Cardinal had been right, she was a musketeer in all but name and that meant this man was no better, no more important than her and that he certainly had no right to be telling her that she shouldn't be there.

"With all due respect, Monsieur –

"It's Captain, actually." The musketeer cut off her rant before she could even get started. "Captain Treville. I command the Musketeers."

Oh.

Perhaps he had some right after all. Her anger softened a little, and now she spoke with less hostility. "With all due respect, _Captain_, I am perfectly capable of doing this job. You should know that: I fought one of your musketeers."

Captain Treville regarded her carefully for a moment. "Indeed you did. And I respect Athos's opinion greatly, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to blindly accept you."

"Athos's opinion?" Gabrielle's eyebrows came together in a frown.

"You managed to impress him, and that's not something that's easily done." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "None of your competitors managed to do so."

A smile crept unbidden onto her face for a moment until she caught sight of the Captains' ever disapproving stare. "I don't understand. If I impressed him, then what is the problem?"

"The problem is you are a woman and, any skill you may have shown aside, a battle is no place for you."

Gabrielle's temper snapped. "Of course, how could I be so stupid?" She hissed as loudly as she could without drawing attention to herself. "It doesn't matter that I can fight as well as your best swordsman; I have breasts so clearly I'm inferior!" Treville flinched at her crudeness and Gabrielle turned away from him to try and get her temper back under control but couldn't help biting out one final remark: "_Chivalry_ outweighs common sense once again. What a surprise."

There was silence for a long time, long enough that Gabrielle had convinced herself the Caotain had left when a quiet, "You're right, of course." came from behind her in a voice quiet enough for her to be sure it was meant for her ears alone.

Nevertheless, Gabrielle immediately spun back round to face him but found herself too drowned in disbelief to form a coherent statement. "I…What?"

"You're right." He said again, louder this time and with more conviction. "I have judged you unfairly: You deserve the right to prove yourself like any other." Gabrielle frowned and opened her mouth to remind him that she already had but he cut her off. "A planned, controlled fight is different to an assassination attempt."

She couldn't argue with that.

"Can I take that as approval?"

The Captain didn't answer, merely gave her a long, searching look and moved away, but Gabrielle caught the smile hiding behind his eyes.

Gabrielle drew away from the centre of the throne room and the endless whispers it fed to stand out on one of the balconies. Sunlight shone softly down upon her and a light breeze played with loose strands of her hair. She leant against the stone railing and, closing her eyes, tipped her face back to the sky, basking in the warmth. It would take a long time before they accepted her and even longer before they began to like her, but she would get there, one person at a time. Yesterday the Queen, today, the Musketeer Captain and as many as she could convince in the days to come. It was true that the beginning would be difficult, but there was hope in the future and whatever it held, it couldn't be worse than what she was coming from.

**Hi again! I hope you're happy with the new chapter – I know, no Aramis, what was I thinking? In truth, he was originally meant to make an appearance but as the chapter wore in it became clear that it would need to be split in half or else you'd be reading a 6,000 word chapter that wouldn't be ready for another month. So, please, try and believe that this is in your best interests, hard though it may seem :P **

**I'm never quite sure if anybody actually reads these (Say hi if you do!) but if you do, you get the golden prize of my apology. I took a very long time to update this. I know that. And I am extremely sorry, but the truth is my writing time is not nearly as long I would like it to be. I'm 17, I'm in the middle of my A levels, I have half a tonne of homework, coursework, revision, private study ect. It never ends! I have a real passion for my writing (taking AS Creative writing!) and I love the story (as I hope you all do) but it will take me a while to update if life, as it usually does, keeps getting in the way. Here's hoping it stops. I can only apologise and ask that you bear with me and don't lose interest in what I hope turns out to be a fantastic story. Thanks guys, you're all wonderful!**

**Love, Kristen.**


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